


as close as it gets

by abovetheruins



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Idol Summer Tour, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-25
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-04-06 03:20:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4205994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abovetheruins/pseuds/abovetheruins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Give in, give in, and relish every minute of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	as close as it gets

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by ‘The Walk’ by Imogen Heap, and written for the lovely lilgrump, whose birthday was this week. Hope you enjoy it, bb! Be forewarned: this attempts to be angst-y but fails halfway through and basically becomes plotless schmoop. Oops?

David’s pretty sure that Cook wants him.

People think he’s naïve, too innocent, too young, and maybe he is. He doesn’t curse, doesn’t get most of the jokes that the older Idols like to tell late at night on the tour bus, and he blushes at the drop of a hat whenever anyone mentions sex in his presence.

But he’s not stupid. His parents, his friends, even the other Idols – they tend to shelter him, treat him with kid gloves. He appreciates that they care about him, want to keep him safe, but at the same time he wishes they would just… stop. It’s frustrating, not to mention a little condescending, to be dismissed simply because of his age or his inexperience. He doesn’t want to be treated like a little kid and he wants even less to be treated like he’s made of glass.

Cook’s never treated him like anything less than an equal. He doesn’t try to censor his jokes or stories of late night antics with his band, always invites David out with him and the other Idols, doesn’t treat David like a child or a barely-tolerated tagalong. He’s protective, yes, but never in a way that makes David feel like he’s being looked down on.

Cook loves him. David knows he does; he’d murmured the words into David’s ear on that wide Idol stage the night of the finale, and he’s said it time and time again since then, on talk shows and interviews and most often when it’s late at night and it’s just the two of them, simple and sure, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Lately, though, Cook has been acting differently around him. His touches, which used to be firm but brotherly, now tend to linger, the hand on the back of David’s neck or lower back like a heat brand against his skin, even through his clothes, and the way Cook looks at him sometimes, focused and intent when he thinks no one else can see…

David’s never had a girlfriend, or a boyfriend for that matter, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t realize what it means. The way Cook touches him, the way he looks at him, the way his eyes always seek David out in a crowd – David’s not stupid, okay.

He wishes Cook would _do_ something about it. He knows Cook is holding himself back, trying not to overstep any boundaries that David might have. He knows Cook probably worries – about his age, his inexperience, and all the other obstacles that come along with that. 

David may be young, but he’s far past the point of questioning what he wants, who he is. He knows why his face warms whenever Cook smiles at him, why his palms sweat whenever Cook is close, why he wants to melt into Cook’s side whenever he pulls David close. 

David’s never been in love before; he’s felt admiration, and even attraction, but it’s never been like this, all-encompassing and overwhelming, terrifying and exhilarating all at once. He feels completely out of his head, and he’s never been so tempted to just _act_ , to throw caution to the wind and go after what he wants despite the consequences, because what he wants feels _right_. 

He wants Cook, and he knows that Cook wants him, too.

He wishes Cook would just give in.

//

Cook’s pretty sure Archie knows he wants him.

It’s in the way Archie looks at him sometimes, a considering tilt of his head that never fails to set Cook’s blood in a slow boil. It’s in the way he catches Cook’s eye whenever Cook looks at him, expectant and inquiring, like he knows something Cook doesn’t and is just waiting for Cook to figure it out. Cook will always avert his gaze whenever this happens, too sure that Arch can see everything in his eyes that he wants to hide, and it never fails to make him feel like a twelve year old girl in the presence of her crush, shy and awkward and completely out of his element in a way that he’s never been before. 

He knows it’s fucked up, that he’s got a thing for a seventeen year old Mormon boy eight years his junior. He doesn’t even know when his brotherly regard for the shy teen had changed, shifted into something deeper, but it’s been there for a while now, since the finale, maybe. Maybe even longer than that.

He doesn’t know what it is about Archie that has him so twisted up inside – the breadth of the boy’s smile, so wide it dimples his cheeks whenever Cook tells him a joke, the sweet, pure quality of his voice, the way it soars into his gorgeous upper register and dips effortlessly into his lower, making Cook shake with the power of it. Maybe it’s David’s personality, his genuine kindness, how earnest and eager he is, how he accepts all of the praise and the applause heaped onto him by his fans with a humbleness and grace that Cook wouldn’t expect from a typical seventeen year old. Maybe it’s his utmost faith, in himself and in the world around him, strengthened by trial and triumph and his absolute certainty that singing, making music, is what he was meant to do, even when a string of doctors had told him he couldn’t.

Cook never planned for this, never thought for one moment when he’d introduced himself to the quiet boy with the amazing voice during Hollywood Week, sweaty and bright-eyed after he’d bounced off stage from singing _Heaven_ , that he would come to this point, completely transfixed by David Archuleta and totally unable to do a thing about it.

It feels like everything’s magnified during the tour; all of the feelings he’d taken notice of but strived to ignore during the competition bubble up to the surface no matter how he tries to stop them. He’s intimately aware of every move Archie makes, of the scant few feet between his bunk and Archie’s on the bus, of every glance and smile and laugh that Archie sends his way up on that catwalk.

He feels a weakness coming on whenever he’s in Archie’s presence, and he’s terrified that one day he won’t be able to control it.

He toys with the idea of a random hookup, just to get it out of his system. Between the grind of _American Idol_ , prep for his album and rehearsals for the tour he’s been damn near celibate for months now. There’s no lack of pretty girls in the bars they frequent after their shows, no lack of willing fans at the barricades; it’d be easy to take one back to his hotel room, to lose himself, shut off his brain for a few blissful hours.

But every time the urge hits, every time Cook finds himself even considering it, he gets this flash of Archie’s disappointed gaze and his stomach sours against the idea. There’s no way the boy wouldn’t find out about it – they’re in the public eye now more than ever, and Michael and the others wouldn’t be able to keep their mouth shut about it. Cook couldn’t lie to Archie either; if he’d asked, Cook wouldn’t be able to keep it from him.

And, if Cook’s being honest with himself, he knows it wouldn’t work anyway. If it was just sex he wanted from Archie, then maybe a one night stand would satisfy him for a while, distract him enough that he could fucking function around the teenager without feeling like a goddamn kid with no self-control.

He wants more than that, though, not just from Archie but from himself, too. He doesn’t want to tarnish his hard-won Idol crown with some random dalliance that’s sure to become public knowledge within a fortnight anyway, and more than that he doesn’t want to tarnish himself in Archie’s eyes, make the teenager think less of him in any way. Cook is human, and he isn’t perfect, and he knows that Arch is well aware of those facts. Yet he also knows that Archie thinks so much of him, admires him, and he wants to be worthy of that regard, worthy of that respect. Archie makes him want to _be_ better.

He’s completely screwed, that’s all there is to it. It’s ironic, considering there’s been no screwing of any kind almost since the day he met the kid. Ironic and a little pathetic, and yet here is he, totally unable to control it.

Cook knows Archie has noticed, just like he knows he can’t hide away from it for much longer. 

He wonders how long it will be, before he just gives in.

//

It’s late, the bus silent save the crunch of its tires over asphalt as they head toward the next city.

David curls his legs up onto the sofa, his eyes on the movie playing out on the television screen but his attention focused on the man on the other side of the couch. Cook’s got a book of crossword puzzles opened on his lap, a pen tapping against his lower lip as his dark eyes scan the page. David watches the movement, completely arrested by the sight of Cook’s pursed lips and the way his fingers curl over the pen as he goes to jot down an answer. 

Despite how enthralled Cook looks in his book, David knows it’s all for show. Earlier he had waited in his bed until all of the other Idols had gone to sleep, curtains thrown back so that he could see Cook’s empty bunk, and when Jason and the others had started snoring, he’d lowered himself onto the floor, bare feet barely making a sound as he went in search of the missing Idol.

He’d found Cook in the lounge, a troubled expression on his face, and for a moment David had warred with himself about intruding, at least until Cook had glanced up. The pensive expression hadn’t left his face entirely, but it had been eclipsed by the crooked smile Cook had sent him, making warmth blossom in David’s chest. He’d offered a soft, shy smile of his own, and closed the sliding door that separated the lounge from the rest of the bus.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Cook had asked, his voice low so as not to wake the others, and David had nodded even though that hadn’t quite been the truth.

“Mind if I watch a movie?” he’d asked. “Just until I get sleepy?”

He could tell Cook had wanted to say no; his eyes had darted between the only other available space left on the couch and the door, like he couldn’t decide whether to stay or go. He’d said yes anyway, and David had held his breath until the movie was queued up, only letting it out once Cook had made no move to leave.

It’s hard to pretend that he’s even remotely interested in what’s going on onscreen, though, even though the movie is one of his favorites He’s too distracted by Cook, who in turn is too distracted by him to even pretend like he cares about completing his crossword. He’ll stare unseeing at the page for moments at a time, only to jerk out of his trance and scribble something down so that it looks like he’s busy. 

David’s not fooled, though. The fact that Cook has yet to make a comment about his choice of movie ( _Finding Nemo_ , something Cook would usually grin and shake his head at) is proof enough that Cook’s not paying attention, yet any time David shifts, just a bare twitch of his arm or leg on the sofa, has Cook’s fingers tightening around his pen, his eyes listlessly scanning whatever page he’s on like he’s trying not to glance up.

“Hey, Cook?” he asks, giving up all pretense of watching his movie in favor of watching the reigning Idol champ instead. Cook glances up, his eyes meeting David’s for a moment before they flick away.

“Yeah, Arch?” he asks, scribbling something in his book. David doesn’t bother to hide his smile; it’s rare that he gets to see Cook like this, so seemingly shy and unsure. 

“Can I ask you something?” 

Cook glances up again, swallows, turns away. “Sure, Archie. Shoot.”

“Do you ever want something that you shouldn’t?”

Cook’s pen freezes on the page, his eyes a little wide as he looks at David. David just stares serenely back, not backing down even as Cook asks, kind of haltingly, “What do you mean, Arch?”

“I mean… “ David searches for the words, treading cautiously just in case the wrong choice sends Cook careening from the room. “Have you ever wanted something that you weren’t supposed to?”

Cook’s adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. He can’t seem to be able to meet David’s gaze. “I – Archie, why are you asking me this?”

“Because I want something,” David answers, doesn’t bother with subtleties now that he’s finally got Cook’s attention. He doubts Cook could handle anything but total honesty at this point, anyway. “I know that people won’t really… um, approve, of it, but it’s something that makes me really happy, and I’ve wanted it for a while now, only – “

“David, stop – “ Cook’s on his feet, crossword book tumbling unnoticed to the floor. His eyes are wide and round. “I’m sorry, I’m – I think I should leave. Head to bed.” He’s already heading toward the door before David can stop him, and his rushed, “We’ll talk later, okay?” is followed by the slam of the sliding door and a series of thumps as he stumbles his way to the bunks in the dark. 

David lets out a breath, leaning back against the couch as the quiet of the bus settles back over him. He wonders what Cook is so afraid of, why he won’t just give in. David’s made it pretty clear that he feels the same way, that he’s not afraid of the consequences. Maybe Cook’s still too afraid.

David will just have to show him that it’s okay to let go.

//

Another night, another city.

The show leaves Cook wired and wide awake, adrenaline and the dregs of post-concert excitement combining into a potent cocktail that leaves him feeling wild, reckless.

He’d dropped to his knees on the catwalk tonight, just as he always did, even though the sight of Archie above him, sweaty and bright-eyed in the glare of the stage lights, always made desire spark to life in the pit of his stomach. Archie’s behavior tonight hadn’t helped; he’d wrapped his hands around Cook’s shoulders and yanked him to his feet in one quick jerk, meeting Cook’s startled expression with a smile that was anything but innocent, and Cook had had to curl his fingers into his palms, his nails biting into his flesh, to keep himself from jumping the teen on stage.

Ever since their conversation on the bus a few nights ago, Cook has barely been able to resist the urge to get Archie alone, to ask him if he’d meant what Cook thinks he’d meant. Archie’s never been known to be anything but honest; Cook knows he would tell him the truth if only Cook would ask.

He’s tired of being afraid, tired of running, tired of trying to deny the things he feels. If Archie really does feel the same (god, if he _does_ – ) then Cook would never forgive himself for letting the opportunity to find out slip through his fingers. The tour won’t last forever, and even if there’s a chance that he and Arch won’t happen, Cook would rather find out now then hold out hope until the end of it only to find out that there’d never been a chance. 

He waits until he and Archie are alone in the elevator, the other Idols dropped off on their floors with half-mumbled goodnights, before he touches the boy’s waist, a bare brush of his fingers over Archie’s checkered shirt, asking quietly if they can talk. The first night in a hotel after nearly two weeks on the road and the promise of a day off tomorrow fuels his bravado, but it wavers the moment the words actually leave his mouth.

Until Archie smiles at him, soft and sweet and _relieved_ , and Cook knows he’s said the right thing.

They head to Cook’s room without having to discuss it, and as he closes the door behind them Cook can’t help but feel a sense of finality, like this moment, right here, is the point of no return. 

He turns to see David perched on his bed, his hands clasped loosely together in his lap, and though the pose is meant to be a calm one, Cook sees the way David’s hands shake a little as he draws closer.

“Hey,” he says, softening his voice as he sits by David’s side. He curls his hands over David’s, twining their fingers together, and waits until David looks up at him before continuing. “We don’t have to do anything, okay? I know – I know we need to talk, about all this, about what’s happening – “

“What _is_ happening?” David asks quietly, staring at Cook’s hands, his index finger slowly sweeping over Cook’s knuckles. Cook breathes in sharply at the sensation, catching David’s eye, and the younger man smiles, tilts his head. “You know, don’t you? I tried to tell you, on the bus, but you left and I wasn’t sure if you… if you knew what I was really trying to say. You know that I… that I like you, though, don’t you, Cook?”

The way he says it, so simple and sincere, the pauses proof that he’s just as nervous as Cook is, nearly undoes Cook completely. 

“I know you do,” he rasps, lacing their fingers together. “Archie. _David_. You’ve been driving me crazy, you know that?”

“Now you know how I feel,” Archie says quietly, and Cook huffs out a laugh. “I didn’t think you were ever going to do anything about it, though.”

“I almost didn’t,” Cook confesses, shaking his head as Archie moves to speak. “I’ve wanted to, I just – I didn’t think it was possible, that you thought that way, felt that way, about me.” A self-deprecating smile curls his lips. “You sure you want to start something with an old man like me, Arch?”

Archie doesn’t rise to the bait; he curls one of his hands over Cook’s jaw, strokes his thumb over Cook’s stubbled cheek. “You’re not old, Cook, gosh, and that’s never bothered me anyway. I know other people will be, um, against this, because of that, but in a few months it won’t matter anyway.”

Cook laughs weakly, the sensation of Archie’s skin against his leaving him raw, exposed. He feels like all of his secrets are laid bare in front of this boy. “Since when did you become the smart, sensible one?” he asks, closing his eyes as Archie’s other hand comes up to cup the other side of his face. 

Archie laughs, the sound bright and musical. “Since always,” he says softly, and then presses his lips to Cook’s. 

Even if Cook was expecting it, nothing could have prepared him for the feel of Archie’s soft, bitten-up lips against his own. He groans quietly, curling a hand around Arch’s waist and the other around his neck, tilting his head up to deepen the angle of the kiss.

He hears Archie whimper, their lips separating for a moment as Arch huffs out a breath, and then they’re falling back into it, lips turning soft, and slick, the wet sounds of their kisses echoing in the silence of the room. 

It’s Archie that moves to take It deeper, brushing his tongue against the seam of Cook’s lips, pushing through to sweep over the flat line of Cook’s teeth, curl against the roof of his mouth. Cook lets him take his fill, startled into inaction until Archie’s tongue slides wetly over his own, and then he’s pressing forward, Archie’s fingers tightening around his jaw as Cook takes control, sucking on Archie’s tongue and delighting in the full-body shiver that action earns him.

They wind up falling back to the cool hotel sheets, Cook hovering over Archie, their legs tangling together, and it’s remarkable how well they fit together, Archie hot and pliant underneath him, his thumbs stroking Cook’s jaw, brushing against the place where their mouths are joined.

It’s in-between kisses, some fast and hard, a hurried meeting of lips and tongues that steals Cook’s breath away, followed by others that are slow, soft, a lingering press of lips that leave them both panting in the aftermath, that Cook realizes David is hard, straining against the zip of his jeans.

Cook tries to draw back, slow them down, but David follows his mouth with this little whimper, his hands squeezing Cook’s shoulders to try and pull him back down, and Cook is totally unable to resist kissing him again, pulling Archie’s lower lip into his mouth and nibbling on the plump flesh.

“ _Cook_ ,” Archie moans, and god, hearing his name like that from Arch’s mouth nearly finishes Cook right there. He pulls back with one last heated kiss, nearly falling back to Archie’s mouth once he gets a good look at his runner-up’s face.

Arch is flushed and breathing hard, his lips red and wet and swollen, mouth slack as he draws in air, and his eyes are half-lidded, dark and gorgeous.

“Fuck, Archie,” Cook curses, leaning up on his forearms; the action sends his hips forward, pressing against Archie’s, and he lets out a hiss at the friction, tries to move away until Archie wraps his legs around Cook’s waist, holding him still. “ _God_ , David, we can’t. We have to stop.”

Archie shakes his head, buries his fingers in Cook’s hair and leans up to press their lips together once, twice, three times, brief, biting kisses that drive Cook fucking crazy. “Don’t – _mmm!_ – don’t want to stop.”

Even with arousal blinding him, Cook can’t help the strangled laugh that comes out of his mouth. “I know you don’t,” he manages to rasp out, his hands curling around Archie’s hips, trying to still them, “but if we keep going – Christ, Archie.” 

Arch isn’t even bothering to listen to him; he’s wriggled his hands between them, sliding his palms beneath Cook’s shirt, and the touch of those long, slender fingers to his stomach sends Cook reeling. He presses his face to the warm hollow of Archie’s throat, sucks a mark to life along the column of his neck, tasting salt and sweat and reveling in the natural fragrance of Archie’s skin.

“Please, please,” Archie murmurs, his hands moving to Cook’s hips, dipping beneath the waistband of his jeans. Cook rears up, his hips moving in slow, shallow thrusts, and Archie’s head falls back to the pillow, his voice completely wrecked when he gasps, “Please, _oh_. Cook, can you – ?” 

It’s clear what he’s asking for in the way his hips circle up into Cook’s, his fingers clenched bruise-tight around Cook’s hips, and Cook finally, finally gives in, panting as he moves fluidly against Archie, slotting their hips together, the heat of Archie’s cock against his almost unbearable, even through their clothes.

It doesn’t take long, the friction of his jeans and Archie’s face and body and gasping, stuttered moans too much after so long without, and it’s after a few more frantic moments of grinding against Archie’s dick that Cook comes, gasping his completion against the hot, sweaty skin of Archie’s neck.

Archie follows him with a long, low groan, tapering off into a breathless whimper, and Cook breathes out a muffled curse against the boy’s throat, promising to wring more of that sound out of Archie in the very near future. 

He falls to the side with a groan, throwing an arm over his eyes as he struggles to catch his breath. “This,” he gasps out, “wasn’t what I had planned when I invited you in here.”

He hears Archie laugh beside him, before an armful of breathless runner-up is abruptly deposited onto his chest. Cook raises his arm, quirking a brow at Archie’s cheeky grin. “You find that funny, do you?” he asks, poking Arch’s side until the younger man squeaks and grabs for his fingers.

“Well,” Archie says, curling his fingers around Cook’s. “Are you disappointed, that we ended up here?” His voice is steady, the smile on his face unwavering, but Cook can hear the uncertainty underneath, insecurity bubbling to the surface.

He catches Archie’s fingers and brings them to his mouth, presses a kiss to their tips. “No way,” he says, and pulls Archie forward so he can catch the edge of that brilliant, beaming smile with his lips.

Surrender has never tasted sweeter.


End file.
